Oddities of the Universe
by CampionSayn
Summary: Two lives, two life forms and one unique thought... Can this really work? A collection of odd pairings (mostly Vilgax/Gwen) I happen to adore and think could possibly work... maybe. Rating may go up to 'M' in some chapters, but there will be warnings.
1. Snow

Disclaimer: I own nothing and nothing owns me.

Inspired by the authoress known as SerenBunny, I present to you... Vilgax/Gwen..... Please, no insults, I'm driven by inspiration.... Don't hurt me.....

These are only drabbles as I find fabulous ideas with the abstract.

* * *

**Paradox  
**  
....And standing upon a hill covered in snow on a day of warm summer, the warlord stood under what he knew to be a willow. Beside him, with her pointer finger a lightning blue color, weaving snowflakes from the air, the witch sat, smiling. Vilgax of Chimera Sui Generis and Gwen Tennyson of Earth.

What wonders a month with odd company can bring.

* * *

**Contempt**

Nothing in life is for certain, that much is known through-out the galaxy. However, some things can be made semi-certain by continuously making it so.

For instance, Vilgax was certain that he hated the Tennyson clan, and wasn't shy about making this known. Often using the violence that he loved so much to get that point across.

Contrariwise, these attempts of getting the point across can only go so far.

This was made abundantly clear when he tried to kill the clan's youngest female.... failing miserably in the end. He just couldn't bring himself to hurt a girl.

Contempt can only go so far.

* * *

**Nude**

Oh, God, she was loosing her mind....

First thing that morning on the battleship cruiser Vilgax called home, Gwen Tennyson knew her day was going to go south... the second she stubbed her toe.

That, in itself, was not a big deal, but Gwen knew, she just knew, it could only go worse from there.

And she was right.

The next hour was a living hell. The ships anti-gravity went out, causing her breakfast to embed itself in her hair and clothes. The workout room's several hundred pound weights almost hit her head. And, to top it off, one of the robot drones blew up her wardrobe _somehow_.

"Okay.... All I need as a shower. Get this junk out of my hair, and everything will look better." She rationalized, grabbing one of the giant towels, which to her were more like blankets, and headed to the bathing room.

If only fate were so kind.

A quarter of a second before she punched in the access code, the big, heavy doors slid open, revealing a sopping, nice smelling and somewhat nicer looking Vilgax.

Nothing at all covering his body. Not his armor, not the mask he usually wore, not a towel..... _nothing_.

"There's some hot water left, if you wish to use the facility." Vilgax uttered as he passed by, not noticing the totally blank look on Gwen's face. A fire hot blush encasing her entire frame.

* * *

In my defense, I wrote these after watching Cowboy Bebop. My brain always goes screwy when watching that.

'Til next time!


	2. Halloween

Disclaimer: I own nothing and nothing owns me.

_This up-date is made to the first, and most probably, only reviewer to this story._

_

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_

17 Again:

"AAAAAHHHHHHH!!"

Vilgax had never in all his vast existence been so.... he believed the human word was 'freaked out'.

"What have you done to me, wench?!"

"Hey! It's not very good to bad-mouth the person who can change you back." Gwen chastised, circling the now much, much shorter Chimera Sui Generis standing before her.

The age spell Gwen had cast, worked very well. Now the tall green alien only stood about two feet above her, and his armor was just barely hanging on as he shook in frustration at her antics.

"I am not amused." Vilgax growled, far less menacing, considering his voice had gone the way of the rest of him.

"Is to me." The redhead chuckled, easily dodging his mis-aimed fist.

* * *

Hallows Eve:

Standing before the rustic gates of human burial grounds, the most feared Chimera Sui Generis contemplated actually entering. He was not admit to have fear of anything, but....

Reluctantly opening the way, flinching only slightly at the noise the metal made, Vilgax continued up the path to his destination.

Why in all the wanderings of the world the little witch wanted to celebrate this 'holiday' was beyond him.

* * *

Guardian Angel:

"I suppose you expect me to thank you."

"Not at all."

Shock refused to make an entrance upon the young witch's face as Vilgax continued wrapping the second degree burn on her arm, with surprising gentleness.


	3. Elaborate Skins

Wow, it's been years since I've been here. Forgive if this comes off as a little out of it, but considering this chapter is dedicated to **FanXiaolinShowdown** (whom asked me to stick the shock paddles to this fic and see if there was still any life in it), it will be long and will be specific.

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_-:-  
I cannot understand why I wasn't struck right down dead.  
-Dorothy Parker._

* * *

**Elaborate Skins**-:-

He has seen her almost burn the kitchen down by accident more times than he'd care to count…

It's not that she's a bad cook (_to the contrary; she seems to be the only person that he's even known—human beings he has seen and not killed varying in numbers through the years not helping his opinion, but he digressed—that can make perfect toast and golden waffle cakes with the perfect golden hue and flavoring well worth the time to obtain ingredients_), it's that she has the unfortunate habit of thinking she might have time to add onto the meal and then finds herself in a rush once she realizes that she might have made an error in that thought. Gwen, since coming to be on his ship (_oh, and how could he have possibly thought that having her as a sort of hostage would make his life easier in trying to obtain the Omnitrix? She, who demonstrated an intellect much higher than Ben Tennyson and had a bag of tricks much more full to the brim than her cousin before he'd had the device choose him to be its host_) had been insistent that if she was going to be kept there like a pet or a hostage, than she should at least be allowed into the kitchen to prove that she was worth more walking around free as Vilgax himself than if he just set her in a holding cell to drive the guards insane with human songs that went something like "_I know the song that never ends_…"

She'd proven her worth so well the first time, that, after she had warmed up to him and he had stopped threatening her with bodily harm, he'd often leave her to her own devices in the room of electronic cookery while he was busy with sorting out his army or dealing with annoyances that tended to pop up when one was a warlord such as himself.

That was his mistake.

(The skin along his elbow wasn't quite as obnoxious in the rather distressing color of cracked leather and the feeling of being stung by some toxic insect as his situation was after he'd successfully put out the fire that had consumed what the female Tennyson called a make-shift oven. After apologizing about twenty-two times for the results of her trying to bake something called a truffle, Vilgax had been rather stunned when she'd shrieked at the burn on his arm and had hauled—well, pulled and pushed to the best of her abilities at her height and his willingness to allow it—him to the medical wing and started fluttering around the room while telling him to sit down so she could clean and clothe the wound.

"Oh God, I'm so sorry! I thought maybe I could make some homemade vanilla frosting for the truffles if I was quick, but I didn't take into account that I had no idea how to work the upper part of the oven and it took me over thirty minutes to get the bottom part working—so of course I didn't pay any attention to the smell of burning sugar with my head so far in the stupid thing! Might as well have just been a gas box so I could have ended myself and saved you the trouble—"

"Tennyson."

"But, then I guess if I had done that it would have been rather pointless seeing as then you would have missed out on tearing me a new one—"

"Tennyson."

She continued to prattle on as she nabbed out as much of the gauze and disinfectant from open cabinets [**which would remain open until later that solar cycle, reflective surfaces gleaning from the bright white florescent bulbs above shining out from lamps and electric outlets that looked rather like Galvan eyes and the lining marks of Ghostfreak**] that she could hold in her (tiny, matchstick) arms and took a seat in a chair that was twice the size of herself; her face level with his elbow and her spindly witch's hands applying wet cotton balls to the charred skin. He didn't even twitch when she also took out the large tweezers and started pulling away the dead tissue.

She was calculating, an odd mixture of Max Tennyson's facial expression and the sharp eye focus of her cousin, as she yanked off a large piece and saw the veined skin beneath. Gwen had looked up to see if he would snarl and object to the treatment, but he just looked down at her and allowed her to continue as her fingernails [**he scoffed at even calling them nails when compared to his own they were no more than skin dipped in nitrogen and kept as such**] kneaded away more of the skin on the underside of his elbow joint, flicking atop a much more sensitive patch of nerves. That got a reaction, though it wasn't quite what would have been expected from any sort of injury.

His arm jerked away from her ministrations and he had to clamp down on his own tongue [**dry as it was after being confronted with fire, it wouldn't taste any better if he opened his mouth to swallow**] to keep back a noise that did not go well with his bearing or his personality.

She didn't look at his face, but drew back her hand and closed her eyes, mouth worked into a frown and her shoulders solid in case she was yelled at for improper treatment.

"This… really isn't necessary," Vilgax said after a moment, free hand folding into the curve that she'd been administering aid to, hand bigger than a black bear's paw wrapping around the nerves that, when not burnt from saving the little-little girl from being swallowed in accidental flames, were solid and strong and barely felt at all, but seemed, when the skin was damaged, had the unfortunate effect of being [**he shudders along the grooves of himself; large claw digging in and almost drawing blood**] ticklish.

She blinked up at him [**a hulking behemoth of pure, raw power and muscle that couldn't be brought down by anyone but Ben on a very good day; compared to her less than hundred pounds and figure almost as easy for him to break as it would be for her to snap a dry Thanksgiving wishbone**] and raised her figure to stand, even if it didn't do much good while he was still taller than her one way or another, "Yes, it really is. You could get sick or the arm could get infected and fall off from lack of blood supply or gangrene. It's just a little more to go and then some gauze."

"I do not believe I am even able to get gangrene, child," Vilgax hissed down at her, fingers still tight even as she was bold enough to reach out and try and pry his hand away with both her own determination and as much force as she could put into wheedling her fingers around just one of his claws. It was amusing, if nothing else.

"Don't be such a baby and just let—me—finish!" Each pause was followed by her pulling harder; once even bracing her foot against the medical table Vilgax sat on and heaving so far back that she lost her grip and the warlord actually had to let go of his own arm to keep her from cracking her head [**and maybe her spine**] on the solid floor. It would not have been good of him to allow his hostage [**lady guest; let it never be said that he was entirely without chivalry**] to break her skull and then have to clean up her red blood from the little cracks and creases underfoot.

She squeaked from her position, his arm around her waist with Gwen's arms and legs hanging limp as a kitten carried around by its mother.

"Child, I have suffered much worse than a simple kitchen fire on my person. This burn isn't even first degree for one such as myself," he explained, getting up from his seat and setting her down [**Gwen's feet were bare of both shoes and socks and Vilgax always looked at her toes when they wiggled up and down on cold surfaces before she started walking again; she always left behind little smudges with every step because of the dust and debris she walked on all through the ship on a daily basis since Vilgax had taken her up**] so she could look up at him in embarrassment, blush setting fire to her own face, "This concern is unwarranted and not needed at all."

She surprised him [**her reflexes and brain function were apparently much more advanced than Ben's; something Vilgax would probably have to remember if he ever decided to let her go further into the ship than her quarters, the kitchen and the small date library**] by raising a brow and swiftly pecking her finger against the spot he had been hiding from her. She got quite the spectacular smile on her face when he jolted and his other hand went right back to hiding the loose skin from anymore assault.)

Since her discovery that Vilgax had a spot that she could exploit (_not quite injure, not quite hurt, but just as important as the one place on a dragon that a knight could pierce with a sword to steal away the treasure the beast had been hoarding for upwards of a hundred years_), Gwen had been ordered not to try and cook anything unless he was there and had been allowed _(within reason, seeing as she was still a hostage and couldn't be given complete freedom—that term taking on less and less meaning as time went on and he barely used her anymore to threaten the Tennyson men when the warlord went back to get the Omnitrix and came back beaten every time) _a little more room to wander around the ship. And when Vilgax meant she could wander a bit more, he meant that he had started locking the doors of the rooms he didn't want her in and she mostly just got to walk the halls and stretch her legs while humming odd song lyrics under her breath.

Vilgax sighed from his spot in the kitchen, making little clicks with his claws against the counter as Gwen cracked open a few eggs he had gotten her on his last trip to earth; she'd separate the yolk from the white and then use the yellow parts to make some sweet cookies that Vilgax had been a little vexed to put in his mouth the first time, but was more than happy to consume after he discovered just what chocolate could taste like. The clear fluid dribbled between her fingers like white wine before she carefully (_amazing to Vilgax as it was something entirely impossible for the males of his race to do anything like that; violence practically a part of their everyday body functions_) set the yellow part into a separate bowl and then started another one; the hard white and brown with spots shell pieces being set in the sink that had been installed after the third time she'd almost burnt the facility down and he'd figured it would be smart to have a source of water nearby.

She looked even smaller in the apron she'd made from scraps of damaged clothing picked up from after he'd been in battle with Ben and sewn together after she'd bugged him for three days straight to be given a needle and thread (_he'd given into that eventually, like everything else having to do with her; the end result of her handiwork amounting to something that looked rather like purple leaves clinging like ivy from her waist down to her knees, held together by what had once been a sash Vilgax wore to hold onto swords Ben had inevitably broken in the form of Fourarms_) and he continued to watch her little hands as the shell of another egg split on the rim of the yolk bowl, widening before plopping the insides onto her open palm. He didn't need to follow the movement of the shell to know it made its way perfectly into the drain of the sink.

At his feet, hidden in a lower shelf that used to be utilized to house spices from other planets, he kept a surplus of fire extinguishers that fit perfectly in his hands and would require every ounce of Gwen's upper and lower body strength to pick up; hence why he had taken to observing her every time she wanted to make something more complicated than a turkey sandwich.


	4. So Many Flaws

I am loving **FanXiaolinShowdown** for being so very talkative and intelligent. I know it's almost tantamount to gushing when someone admires another for helping and being a muse to continue a story, but I had to say it, didn't I?

* * *

_-:-  
I don't want to meet someone who shares my interests. I hate my interests.  
-Ghost World._

* * *

**So Many Flaws**-:-

_Moth_:

Forgetting to eat is something she tries desperately not to do. He mother did it quite often when Gwen was smaller and then holed herself up in her room while Gwen's dad tried to talk to the woman through a closed door and Gwen has come to recognize that forgetting to eat (_or not eating on purpose; eyes glazing at the sight of cooked meat and looking over all of the juice like it would jump from the plate and do a jig_) is a form of insanity. She does not want to be crazy.

So when she passed out in front of Vilgax while they were talking (_his hulking form going through the motions of fighting simulations inside of his combat room, drops of sweat grooving along his strained muscles) _and she woke up in the medwing of the ship with the warlord sitting next to her, she knew she had screwed up rather badly.

"I thought I ate something yesterday," she admitted, before he could prattle off about why she had ended up with a weird alien IV in her arm and something like vitamins and saline flowing through her system to get her back in perfect working condition, "But I guess I left the food in the ice chest when one of the guards said you were fighting some slave trader. I just forgot."

He doesn't say anything, but by now she knows that by the way his lips are thinned and not twitching is his way of being worried. His hand clutching the blanket near her wrist (_not her wrist with blood and bones that could snap and tear if he clutched it and got overly-anxious_) is also a confirmation.

_Butterfly_:

On his planet, there are three separate, but at the same time, similar versions of what his people would call God. Well, not like the humans, but something similar. He tried to translate and explain such when Gwen was snooping through the files on his ship's computer and brought them to his attention to alleviate both of their boredom on an oddly slow day, but Vilgax was certain that he didn't translate or improvise a translation very well when she looked at him with that sleek, raised eyebrow and then looked back at the information before her.

There was _**Der**_, which was the supreme form of the masculine mentality and physiology of his people. He didn't, exactly, support war, but he didn't oppose it, either. Vilgax had explained to Gwen ('_Tennyson, damnit, Tennyson_.') that most of his species kept a small stone figure of Der within their abode as a matter of polite form, not out of superstition (_contrary to what Gwen proposed when she found the stone figure and her fingers picked at the long tendrils on its chin before Vilgax snatched it out of her hands and put it back at the front entrance of the ship_).

Then there was _**Bule**_, who represented the female of his specie; fairness, kindness and compassion were her points to follow, but also respite, divine vengeance and quiet retribution when certain lines were crossed. The warlord told Gwen that while he didn't exactly dislike the being, he also thought that carrying the idol along with Der was almost blasphemy (_he did not use that word, otherwise Gwen would have thought that he was more religious than he actually was, but he used a word synonymous, which was almost as bad and got the same reaction, much to his annoyance while he was drinking what—for him—passed for caffeine)_ and that it didn't fit with his lifestyle to put up her sacred rug on the wall of his bedroom of all places.

Last, but certainly not least, there was _**Ylewol**_. Vilgax, to his credit, thought that he explained this being the best. It was neither male nor female, and represented the energy that moved and lived between all things. She seemed to approve of this and brought up the word Qi (_or was it Chi? The word didn't fit through his vocal chords very well and he gave up the pronunciation when she just smiled and said it was close enough—Ben couldn't pronounce or spell it, either_) that was a human term for the exact same thing. She said it wasn't a being, so much as a way of life and he almost felt guilty when she walked off to get some ice for his next training session and he didn't tell her that that was the only God he believed in.

_Bumblebee_:

There is no feeling in the world like being stuck with a needle. Whether it be for medicine or to have blood drawn, it can be a daunting sort of thing that few creatures could ever enjoy, unless they were hooked on some sort of street drug in the back of an alley…

Or a warlord that often found a needle a kind of sick comfort after a battle gone wrong.

The sticky yellow solution of disinfectant on the cotton end of the plastic tube smeared across the crook of Vilgax's inner arm and left a cooling feeling as the circle staining the skin dried and killed off anything that could get in the way of treatment for the injury he had sustained not from Ben Tennyson or his grandfather or any other human, but from that amalgam of aliens that went by the name of Kevin 11 and was still sore with Vilgax about leaving him in the Null Void. Gwen's rubber gloved hands palmed the skin on the outside of the disinfectant before her eyes looked over tiny dots she'd placed with the other end of the plastic tube and she reached back across the metal table at her side for the needle that was still inside its plastic binding and she tore it open _very_ slowly.

His boots jerked up much like a human when they tapped their appendages in annoyance, but other than that he did not move as the needle slipped out between her pointer and middle finger (_perfect and careful and why was it that he always complimented her within his mind and felt guilty every time he didn't say it out loud… he would never want to explain it_) and she screwed it into the end of a vial of medicine to treat some otherworldly muck he'd swallowed by accident in the fight with Kevin.

Her spare hand pressed down on his tough skin again as the other one readied the needle.

"Sorry if this hurts…tiny little pinch…" she spoke, much more calm than any of the doctors Vilgax had ever had on deck—more competent as well—and he almost smiled as the needle slipped into his vein and she pressed down on the plunger.

The feeling of the medication working into his bloodstream caused a small shiver to make his arm pulse and Gwen apologized. It spoke well of his character when he didn't correct her assumptions, but also said more when she dropped the supplies settled in her lap, nervously, and he placed a large hand on the top of her hand to calm her down. She smiled up at him when he patted her, claws running a little through her hair and his other hand taking up the medical waste to drop in the nearby trash bin.


	5. Spines and Tuberoses

**Elizabeth Guest** asked a lot of big questions, made a lot of big suggestions and while I appreciate the earnest, I cannot bare to work on any of the Ben 10 series other than Original and maybe a little Alien Force. I have done my best to answer some of her questions here, anyway. Also, I added in another odd pairing, the entire purpose of these drabbles and shots.

* * *

_-:-  
"We don't have to go to extremes. We don't want to frighten people. We want to have them on our side. Our top problem is, will they... will they accept it at all?"_

_-Atlas Shrugged._

* * *

**Agonies**-:-

There are some days, on the ship captained and controlled entirely by the will of Vilgax, when the quiet familiarity between the warlord and Gwen is shattered and it can't be gotten back for a few days when she finally stops looking at him as if he had betrayed her in some way, as well as after he removes her from one of the locked rooms in the back of the ship where nobody could get to her. These days are when (_and she knows this is the truth, regardless of the fact that Vilgax has never given her a yes or no answer; his eyes focused on battle plans or on the food that was made by some of the other staff as she often refused to make anything after being locked behind a door for hours on end_) Ben and Grandpa tried to take her back to Earth. Back to bumpy movement of the Rust Bucket, to the cramped bottom of the bunk bed shared between her and Ben, back to when she would often be used as a human shield or bargaining chip for anyone stupid enough to think Ben wouldn't figure out a way to get her out of a bad situation unharmed.

The room she is placed in (_when the ship starts to rattle in a way that is very bad and when the other aliens start yelling out up-dates to Vilgax every five seconds about enemy fire_) is all green glowing light from protective liquid moving through the walls like mutated water, and warm cushions that are big enough to make a bed for Vilgax when and if he ever sleeps. Lying down in the middle of one of these cushions like a ladybug in the middle of a giant yellow peony does not ever relieve her agony of spirit and the tears the inevitably come when the noise and rocking stops and she is still there.

_"Why can't you understand that Ben has the Omnitrix and he's not going to give it up for something as stupid as a war that's not going to help anyone? Is it so horrible to think that you could be wrong about gaining ultimate powers for such petty reasons? …Will you ever let me go?"_

She wants to ask these questions every single time Vilgax comes back to get her within the next twelve hours. Sometimes there are injuries to his person and sometimes there is this smug air circling him right up until he pats and nudges her awake and then he just goes blank because of the look she gives him that surely shrivels up whatever he was going to say (_had planned to say; practiced perfectly to explain himself)_ to her.

Vilgax will never explain himself to someone (_a little girl, no matter how brilliant)_ like her. She will have to accept this, eventually.

**Spines and Tuberoses**-:-Albedo/Charmcaster-:-

She can cook, he can't cook. He eats enough for both of them, and though he's loathe to admit it (ever), he worries over the fact he only sees her eat at breakfast and maybe a little at dinner.

Albedo can tell she's not anorexic, otherwise her facial bones would be more pronounced and Charmcaster's ability to walk like a normal person would be hindered with the swagger of one of those fashion models he'd found himself absently watching in the little television of their abode whenever the clock struck eight in the evening and a woman named Victoria was mentioned.

It wasn't until one night, when he was greeted by a bout of insomnia his current body seemed to come equipped with after eating something even remotely as healthy as a salad with a cup of strawberry pink yogurt, that he found that she _did_ have three meals a day…just not at a normal time.

A yellow, dim light hung above their kitchen (_small and round and hanging by a shoestring chord with three beads that had ruins carved into them—for luck, she'd said when he'd asked—looped around the middle of the chord like earrings_) and cast a long reaching shadow from her body as she used a thin, silver knife to cut out the backbone of a small black flounder fish and then chucked the bones into the sink where they sat in a little cluster of gummy pink scale and some sort of blood liquid that meandered into the drain of the garbage disposal. Hair like hers, which she often let stay out of any sort of binding during the day (_in living quarters, in battle, in conference with anyone they might consider an ally_), didn't seem right when it was placed in a high ponytail, but Albedo almost found himself reaching out to touch it—right up until his pointer finger grazed one silver hair and his mind screamed, '_What in Hell are you doing?!_' At which point he pulled back and made his presence known (_waiting until she placed the knife down, of course; he didn't want to be…shanked? That was the word, he was pretty sure_) by clearing his throat and sitting on the counter behind her; his legs almost touching the ground even when lifted into a comfortable position.

She turned around and the look on her face read as if she had been caught disposing of a body or watching some inappropriate video Albedo had once questioned her about (the kind with two or more humans in the act of mating) after he'd gone to the video store when they were out of plans and brought back what he thought would be something to get them in gear for more brain activity (_ah, and what on auspicious occasion that had been; he actually found out what a chick flick constituted as when he'd slipped the other movie he'd rented, Mona Lisa Smile—he'd thought it had been an explanation by the Discovery Channel, there were no pictures on the case—into the DVD player, and became stuck in what he thought Hell might be while Charmcaster snuggled into his side and shushed him each time he interrupted to critique the plot_). It was actually almost charming when he noticed that the plate next to her held fish she'd already cooked, as well as some flowers she often used with spell casting that were drenched in vinegar and ranch.

"Well, at least now I don't have to observe whether or not you're going to pass out on the field," he mused, smirking wide when she tried to wipe the traces of fish slime from her hands on the fluffy white apron she donned around her waist.


	6. And Here We Are Again

This came in later than I thought it would. Honestly, I tried hard to make it last, but when you answer questions, sometimes only straightforwardness is the key. This takes place after the original series' episode "Ken 10" and is written in a style I've only ever used once.

* * *

_-:-  
But a hundred years to a steadfast heart, are but a day.  
-Sleeping Beauty._

* * *

**And Here We Are Again**-:-

He sometimes comes, in the night, after a time where Gwen had almost forgotten how he could be secretly kind. Long after, in fact, the years in which she had developed breasts and height and enough magic to make her far more a force to be reckoned with when she was just a child that learned easy spells from a stolen book that had belonged to another girl with a head of smooth, spiderweb colored hair (_that book still sat on a shelf back at home and Gwen's fingers fancied tracing over the outlines of runes and words that Latin could never perceive even before the eighteen-hundreds_).

She likes to think he does this because he misses her and wants to make sure she is safe, but… she is never really sure. She can't be sure.

They are not Romeo and Juliet, after all.

And it's almost always in places where nobody will care if a warlord strikes up a conversation with a human witch. Either there is nobody for as far as the eye can see (_there is a desert on a planet called Corigan that he once dug a tunnel into for miles just so he could surprise her by unlatching a trapdoor under her feet; at which point they ended up talking until well into the planet's night time and she ended up having to follow him back out through the tunnel so she didn't risk getting eaten by giant insects that only came out when the twin suns above them were well and gone) _or there are only a few aliens or people around—usually drunk—and uncaring to hear what either of them say to each other while they drink fizzy beverages that never have the grand taste of sugar like on Earth and lack the deep honey tones on the warlord's home planet.

This time it is in a bar after Gwen has finished a task of defeating a magically endowed beast, keeping it from destroying a small town on Luna Lobo (_really, those Loboan's were quite different from the one that had attacked Ben so many years ago when helping out Ghostfreak—their pups twice as cute as Ben had been in that form_) and she is bone tired as she takes a seat on a barstool and orders up a small dish of some frozen, chocolate covered worms from Vulpin (_odd though they look, they strike down any vile feelings once on the tongue and once the brain registers that this is almost as good as expensive Italian chocolate_) and a drink that Gwen can't pronounce, but finds easy enough to order when she points to the #8 special written on the board behind the counter. Both are delicious and welcome to her body that hasn't eaten in what feels like three Earth days.

His shadow keeps the glare from the lights out of her green eyes as he takes a seat beside her after scaring off the poor Pyronite that had been two seats to her right. The Pyronite actually left a small cloud of smoke after his drink plashed against his chest when Vilgax turned to the barkeep and ordered something off the menu she assumed was strong from the way he looked less than pleased when he looked over at Gwen for the first time in six months.

"You were injured by that beast," he mutters, that odd little oxygen mask still attached to him even though she knows that if it is possible for her to breathe the air, then it should hold nothing that could affect him.

It's hard not to blush when he's that blunt and eying the tight bandage around her shoulder that wouldn't have been available for the eyes to observe if her sleeve hadn't been torn off, but Gwen manages well enough, lips on the rim of her own pint and sucking up purple bubbles before she bothers to answer him.

"I try not to take it personally. Not as if the poor mad thing knew what it was doing while it was in so much pain. I'm sorry I had to kill it, really."

"You should not feel sorry for a creature that would have destroyed hundreds of children if you had not arrived," he answered back, claws tight on his drink as he removed his mask and Gwen could see that he still (_funny, all the little things she still remembered from him keeping her a prisoner, as well as all the things she found herself forgetting until it almost didn't matter in retrospect_) had little breaks in the skin around his mouth that told her that he chewed on them when he was agitated. The image of him going over plans with blue and red pens on a holographic map made her lips twitch, but not enough for him to notice as he stole one of her chocolate worms; his mouth turned sideways at the taste.

Gwen often forgot that he could never stand chocolate.

She let his comment slip over her like beach sand and looked over more than his face as he drank to dislodge the horrid taste of the worms that still wriggled between his teeth. He had seemed, in the last few years, to be slowing down from his attempts at ruling over all the universe and simply made it his goal to take the Omnitrix for himself or take down Gwen's cousin—whichever came first. The tendrils at his throat seemed less than what they were when she was ten and he was a little over a hundred years old; less lavish and fewer spots (_he used to let her touch them when she was his captive; she liked to count them to make sure he never lost any—he never told her what they meant_). His claws had been chipped recently and were only starting to grow sharp again; but she didn't let herself think that he was getting old—his was a race that could live to be five centuries. Gwen often, when drunk and more likely to make a fool of herself, giggled and whispered to him that all he had to do to beat her cousin was to wait until he died. At that point Vilgax would have both the Omnitrix and the chance to dance on Ben's grave.

She really hoped tonight wouldn't be one of those times. Those nights he often ended up carrying her to some weird hotel (_holes in the walls for the aliens that looked a bit like slugs or didn't have feet so they had to fly around; beds that looked like the number eight on Sesame Street; temperatures in the room either too hot or too cold and never just right so she either ended up naked in the morning or wrapped in the blankets like a caterpillar_) and staying until she had to take off because Ben called with another emergency or Vilgax had to leave to meet with some foreign dignitary or whatever. She always felt sad after those sorts of nights.

His free hand lifted from where it had been settled on the counter and he lightly (_a spider checking out a location to set up a new web; tall and wide reaching corn stalks that were perfect and smooth_) fingered the very end (_loose from tying it, she hadn't bothered cutting the rest and let it hang there a little like an extra long piece of hair or chunk of rope_) of her bandage. Some of her blood dotted the white and was made all the more vibrant against his green skin.

Vilgax allowed his smallest finger to trace the skin of her shoulder and Gwen could see him smile beyond his trying to cover emotion while chugging more of his drink.

It was to be a good night, she supposed.


	7. Let the Trolling Commence

OMG, **Elizabeth Guest** if you're reading this, please, please please—NOT SO MANY QUESTIONS! Seriously, I love them, I do, but in MODERATION. Which means, to me anyway, maybe two or three at a time. Seriously, my brain hurts and my hands are going to fall off. Also, for any other requests (from anyone at all) all of this is based off of either the Original Series or maybe a little-teeny-tiny bit of AF. I HATE everything else. I am a Hater—there, I said it.

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_-:-  
I just want to know one thing… Will you be having the chicken or the sea bass?  
-Aladdin and the King of Thieves._

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**Let the Trolling Commence**-:-Hex/Gwen-:-

He keeps lists of the things she does. At home, at school, playing hero with her fat-mouthed cousin; all just so he could learn her weaknesses, a way to beat her and preferably without his niece's help.

An unfortunate side-effect of this, however, were collected little spiral notebooks full of useless information that ended up making her into a person in his eye, rather than an enemy. Only a few pages of the notebooks (stained quickly by some of the drops from his potions, leaking the magic from his fingerprints) contained anything usable, but the rest was…troubling.

Or, troubling for a sorcerer like Hex, anyway.

Hex sat at his work table for what felt like the millionth time that week alone and started out on his newest list; the ink from the quill he used (Charmcaster could chortle about him getting out of the Dark Ages as much as she wanted; a quill was a proper writing tool—as opposed to those glitter filled gel pens the white haired witch used on her own) dripping twice into the inkwell before he put it to the lined paper.

'Food and Drink Gwen Tennyson Fancies that Could be Used to Cover the Taste of Poison:

1. That disgusting Pepper soda that she seems to drink every day at her school lunch—though it might be quite difficult to execute the poison as her cousin (despite constant denial) is often seated in front or beside her. Not a very probable to accomplish.

2. Black berry pie she buys on the weekends from that odd Ukrainian cart vendor. (Perhaps I should put a spell on him first, though. He seems to have a penchant for staring at her and smiling too much to be anything but a pedophile.)

3. Haggis she has to eat to please that stage mother of hers—if it's served with a little of my own lemon rice and some Indigo berries, anyway. No need to make her death so dishonorable as to choke on that awful stuff.

4. …'

His quill lifted from the page and paused as his brain seemed to stall at the thoughts of exactly what else she ate. She seemed to only focus her health on tasteless vegetables or sweets, so…basically his stalking her for the last four weeks for this particular plan had been pointless.

Hex growled and—rather than ripping the paper from its spirals—snapped the notebook shut and crushed his third quill in the last month. The feathers scattered at his feet and his head thunked onto the table in exasperation.

**Walk This Way, Not THAT Way**-:-Ben/Tetrax-:-

Being thirty years old, finally, feels weird to Ben, for some reason. Tetrax, on their way to the prison planet to drop off a small hoard of hostile criminals they had both taken down on Earth (oh, and hostile didn't quite cover it; they had tried to blow up a school to get the Plumbers to give them some old alien tech), had asked him why that was, exactly. Wasn't the age of thirty, in most Earth customs, the key age of adulthood?

"Well, yeah, it does," Ben answered, scratching the back of his head and taking a small drink from the weird energy drink Tetrax had given him to replenish his reserves after fighting as Heatblast (he seemed to always get thirsty after being that alien, though Azmuth told him that shouldn't happen) for almost three hours back on planet side, "But, well, a lot of scary stuff happens around this age. Having a more permanent job, saving up for retirement of that job, deciding to find a wife and whether or not to have kids. Stuff like that. Scary stuff."

Tetrax snorted at the very thought of Ben having a job that wasn't a part of being a hero. Having to punch in and punch out of some boring existence of serving food or building houses or things like that. It shouldn't have seemed so insane, but the diamond skinned alien just couldn't think of Ben as anything but exactly what he was now; standing beside Tetrax on the Diamonhead's ship, tired after saving children from dying and happy enough to talk to Tetrax in a way that nobody else did.

"I think you could handle it," Tetrax answered instead, teasing and highly amused when Ben almost choked on his energy drink as a result of Gluto flying the ship and a high tilt to avoid some space debris.


	8. Warm Water Under a Red Bridge

A present was granted to me over at Youtube by **WWP** (**WerewolvesProtector**) and a request was asked for by **Elizabeth** **Guest**. I grant both a present back over from my side because I am pleased and feeling fat and happy recently. Enjoy.

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**Warm Water Under a Red Bridge**-:-Paradox/Gwen-:-Alien Force-:-

It is a little annoying being in Paradox's presence for long periods of time (_as perceived by the young lady with the red hair as she is studying on ancient Japanese ritualistic magic, mana and influence for her next term paper) _when trying to work, so Gwen worked out, finally, that if he was going to spend any sort of time with her, he would have to keep his feet on the floor and not echo around her present existence like a freaky firefly.

For the moment, next to a river with reeds Gwen plucked out to examine for residue of an event Paradox said took place some hundred-thousand years ago (_"A great blaze of fire that wasn't fire and burned without heat that had me rubbing my eyes to relieve myself of the sudden onset blindness that comes from a spark of such infancy and wild abandon. Horrible swirling spots to deal with, you know my dear," he grinned over and above her in quick succession; the reed in her hand being peeled open with more force than she intended as she counted to ten and tried to keep up with him and maintain a polite attitude at the same time that would have been plain impossible had she not spent a large portion of her time generally dealing with her cousin and a delinquent_) he was being little more quiet as he sat on a knotted and overturned tree root that he actually said 'hello' to as he traced the lines of the plant and considered—probably—over eternity in biological creations of the Earth.

Gwen looked over her shoulder and stowed away the reeds in a little paper baggy (_wrinkled from when she'd used it earlier to hold the sandwich she had made of plum blossoms and banana bread_) for later on when she went back to her own mini-lab in her apartment with the broken window and a superintendant that had been too busy being away on business to fix it, leaving her to wear sweaters at night if she was to stay warm, because the heat certainly didn't stay in after the sun went down. Paradox seemed to be working his lips like he often did when he thought he was going to ask a question about something either awkward or that hadn't happened yet. It would have been adorable on someone else, but on him, until she got to know him as more than just the scientist that couldn't die and had a habit of dropping in on her when she was just waking up in the morning (or Ben, if the immortal was feeling really cheeky at any given moment) while slipping out of her nightgown.

"Something the matter, Professor?"

He blinked over at her with wide doe eyes that quickly shifted to light and froth in a whirlpool in his mind for Gwen to notice, but not to mention as he finally questioned, straining his vocals, "Before I take you back, I have to ask, since I'm not sure I am in the right place and it would be rude of me not to ask, even if I have before—"

"Yes, what is it?"

Paradox trailed and curved digits over the tree's skin again, a kink in his behavior that Gwen long ago connected with embarrassed fidgeting, "Have I fixed your window yet? You're wearing that garish sweater again after we agreed that you'd throw it out."

Gwen heard but didn't see some fish swish by under the little red bridge no more than thirty feet behind her and along further up the river; perhaps one jumped as she blinked at the immortal and tried to count to ten before he started rambling about chills and allergens and glass like he did the week before when he'd popped in on her at an art gallery that had opened around the corner street of her residence she had intended to observe for her own pleasure before he freaked out the curator and the guard.

**The Last Castle**-:-Vilgax/Gwen-:-Ben 10 (Original Series)-:-

Accidents aren't always what they say—what people say—that they are.

If she woke up in the dead of night, being where she was, she would probably freak out and explode like some delayed time bomb that he had thought he had fixed, dismantled, set aside to go onto something else. That was what Vilgax thought was the highest probable thing that could happen, anyway.

He was a mountain on the bed that was more like a Sultan's chamber room to the small girl that had been sleeping (_comatose, this sort of thing was done by the body on purpose, as a way to cover up and spare pain and feelings it knew the mind couldn't handle if woken just yet_) on it since the warlord had her fixed and laid out on the mattress like a doll that needed to settle before she could be properly held again. On his side and his head not resting on the pillow that held her head (_bruising was finally leaving her right eye where a lucky marauder had landed a hit before she had shot him away to a wall like a fly with a spell of ancient Hebrew and Minsk in combination that left the attacker in near as bad shape as she was in by the time Vilgax found her bleeding and propped up against a wooden crate carrying rare gems in the cargo hold_) he could feel her light breathing on his chin and lower neck near his collarbone. It felt hollow compared to the occasional times he had been allowed to wrap his monstrous arms around her and keep her warm on nights when the heating blinked out on his ship.

Vilgax would have held her; it just took slight movement in seconds on his behalf. Nobody was around to begrudge him if he were to take advantage of the situation and just use her like the doll she appeared to be. He could take a small comfort in just resting a clawed hand on her shoulder.

But he would wait. Looking was enough until she could give consent (_something he could tell and knew in his gullet that she would do when she blinked awake a day, an hour, a moment from where they were and then look upon him in demeaning shock before shivering in pain and curling into him of her own volition and choice_) herself.

He would not budge on this.

**The Grey Zone**-:-Ben/Kevin-:-Alien Force-:-

Respirators were not breathing for the boy and Kevin was thanking the God he didn't believe in for that.

He had it worked out a long time ago (_when he had wandered into hospitals when he was eleven and on the streets and discovered that a lot of rooms were left open if a patient had a relative coming to see them; a lot of those patients sometimes slept on through the day thanks to the morphine drips attached to them and didn't notice when nurses brought in a full tray of food and just set it out on a folding table in case they did wake up and got hungry. Easy way to score a hot meal that didn't involve a soup kitchen_) that if a person, like Ben at the moment, had a lot of machines attached to them, there was one sure fire way to know whether or not they were a lost cause and the doctors were feeding loved ones false hope or if they were strong sons-a-bitches and just needed a little help limping along in the healing department.

If there was a large air tube down his throat (_not a hose, just something Kevin could fit his middle finger inside and wave around for fun if he was pretending his appendages were growing_) then Ben was screwed, because a breathing machine was keeping his brain just alive enough with oxygen circulating into his blood system for the doctors to get the Tennyson parents to sign a waver and let them cut the boy up for spare parts that would be distributed around the country (_cancer patients, heart murmurs, amputees, people caught in fires that needed nice skin tissue, some college kids that wanted to be able to see again since being in an accident that made the world a dark shadow and touch and sound_) and only leave behind just enough to burn to ash and fit in a glass jar if they were really fortunate.

The fact that Ben was breathing on his own and only hooked up with the stuff to give him really good pain meds and monitor his heart and brain activity was really awesome, despite all the piping that had been placed into his bones to keep him at odd angles to help his broken limbs fix themselves in a way that wouldn't make him seem like one of those Halloween poster puppets that had arms and legs you could pin awkwardly to frighten kids. It would be fun rubbing Tennyson the wrong way when he woke up and it was totally okay, because the kid would be fine.

"Now for the waiting part, which is gonna such, so you're just gonna hear me read the scores on the latest Nicks game. No reading 'Goodnight Moon' for you. Not after getting into that doozy of a screw-up with Albedo, anyway, Benny," Kevin smirked in mock evil as he flipped open the sports column he'd brought in; the ink leaving smudges on the lining of his thumb.


End file.
